


The Great Big Shapefiddler Drabble Roundup

by gerbilfluff



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alien Character(s), Breasts, Breeding, Domestic Fluff, Egg Laying, Eggpreg, Mpreg, Other, Oviposition, Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 21:54:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6825964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gerbilfluff/pseuds/gerbilfluff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You want eggs? You want foxy young engineers getting filled to the brim with 'em? You want domestic fluff and/or breeding porn so sweet, you just might get cavities while you're fapping?</p>
<p>Uh. Those are... very specific niche interests, I have to say. But believe you me, I've got you covered! :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Setup, and... we're off!

**Author's Note:**

> So originally, back at the time "Society of the Blind Eye" aired, nobody knew who the Author was. We only knew Fiddleford was his assistant, and I assumed that meant he'd probably get stuck with the grunt jobs around the labs, like feeding the Shapeshifter, who I was *certain* laid eggs. (And I was right! Woohoo!!)
> 
> I scribbled down a little something that would become "Unmarked Videotape," about the Shapeshifter taking advantage of Fiddleford while he was feeding it, but... even though I know I've written some, rape fics have always just kinda turned me off overall. I ended up asking myself, "Wait, so I can write a fictional alien being who doesn't exist just fine, but I can't write *consensual* sex with it? What's wrong with this picture?!"
> 
> Cue "Seeing Is Believing," where Fiddleford *wanted* to get bred by the Shapeshifter.
> 
> Then "A Tale Of Two Stans" hit, and we all found out Ford was the Author. Now *that's* interesting, I thought. What if, when Fiddleford was leaving Ford, he snuck into the bunker and freed the Shapeshifter as well? They've both been screwed over and isolated in their own ways because of Ford's doings. What if they got a little cabin out in the Gravity Falls woodlands somewhere? What if Fiddleford was all too happy to get busy with the Shapeshifter, and have as many little grub eggs as possible with it, as a way of them both getting back at their one-time fate?
> 
> That's where these Tumblr drabbles came in.
> 
> Do I think this would actually ever happen in canon? HECK no.
> 
> Do I still find it unbelievably hot? YES, YES, AND AGAIN YES.

So. Domestic Shapefiddler. (Don't worry, A03 mods, this'll get into a freeform drabble soon enough. Just laying some groundwork first.)

\- Days after their first litter of grubs grow up and start walking on their hind legs, Fiddleford and the Shapeshifter wake up to an empty cabin. The Shapeshifter shrugs and replies, "They're off to find their way in this world. It's what we do." But Fiddleford won't have it, instituting a house rule: you have to hug your parents goodbye when you leave.

\- Some of their grubs have pink eyes like the Shapeshifter, some have blue like Fiddleford's, and a few have one of each; only one has light purple eyes, a super-shy grub they name Violet.

\- The Shapeshifter can always tell the grubs apart perfectly. Fidds fumbles, often calling out a bunch of names until he gets the right one.

\- Every once in a while, a woodpecker or a squirrel with pink or blue eyes will tread up to their cabin, then smile and scamper away as soon as their folks see they're doing okay. Violet's the one homebody, sneaking in as a garage mop or corner table when their parents don't notice.

\- Occasionally, especially near the end of carrying a new litter, Fiddleford will lose his balance, and gain it back as if from a "miracle," when it's really just Violet disguised as furniture reaching out a leg to prop him back up.

\- This sort of thing happens a lot in the household, and usually not with Violet. The Shapeshifter will reach for a bottle of lotion to massage Fidds' stomach, for example, only for it to squeak and reform into a grub, scuttling off... The Shifter sighs, and reaches for the REAL lotion bottle...

\- Soon, there's a new house rule: no shifting into frying pans. Fiddleford lays there on the kitchen floor, hugging that grub tight, cold bacon and eggs scattered across the floor. He's just relieved nobody got burned.

\- Over time, the reproduction goo the Shifter pumps into Fiddleford during mating changes the makeup of his body. His breasts swell with milk for hungry just-hatched grubs, his hole (whichever you picture it being) grows looser and puffier, and his stamina increases, to better match how long Shapeshifter mating sessions can last.

\- Shapeshifter mating can take several days; these are the only days Violet won't ever crash in their house, as soon as they hear the two are having their "busy time."

\- Shapeshifter eggs are deposited into Fiddleford in clumps, slightly larger than pea size apiece, growing to ping-pong ball size when they've been warmed by his insides for a few days. They grow noticeably bigger when they're viable to hatch.

\- Because the eggs expand so quickly, Fiddleford's stomach is seldom the same size from one day to the next. He keeps a closet with skinny "Monday" clothes on one side, going up to full-term maternity wear-- his "weekend duds"-- on the other.

\- The Shapeshifter's alien biology and Fiddleford's human one don't match up well, resulting in only around four or five grubs for every breeding period's hundreds of eggs.

\- Ever since the week when no grubs hatched from an entire litter, Fiddleford can't help a few joyful tears when an egg suddenly crowns that's big enough to hatch outside of him. It's rare enough that he doesn't mind the extra work needed to lay them.

\- The Shapeshifter is quick to learn Fiddleford's particular groans when the laying could start at any minute. Off the Shifter goes to the dryer to fetch that week's warm, clean blankets. It wraps them into a comfy nest on the floor for it to guide Fiddleford down to, where it curls up with him to massage his by-then enormous eggbelly and listen to him pant, the both of them waiting.

\- Fiddleford prefers wearing a simple button-down shirt when he's laying, even if he can only manage to close the top few buttons. He's embarrassed to admit it outright, but this is because his chest gets super sensitive at these times, and the flood of mini-orgasms he has from the cotton brushing his nipples is only good for the laying process; more goo never hurts.

\- Just like the mating frenzy, laying the eggs can last a good long while, leaving Fiddleford often suckling a grub or two under his shirt that's hatched before he's done laying the full litter. Fiddleford used to be self-conscious about this at first, but now, he welcomes the multitasking with open arms, cradling the hatchlings to his chest as the Shapeshifter coaxes him to more and more pleasure getting the rest out however it can.

\- Fiddleford will allow one nip from a grub's fully-formed teeth before he stops suckling them. From that point on, they get orange juice.

\- This household goes through *a lot* of orange juice. By now, Fiddleford's heard all of Ma and Pa's Vitamin C jokes when he needs to restock at the local Dusk To Dawn. They keep telling him the same jokes anyway.

\- Both Fiddleford and the Shapeshifter see breeding so many grubs as a good thing mostly because it's so much fun, but also as a means to feel better about Ford cooping them up without any companionship for so long. (I'm assuming this all happens after Fidds' wife leaves him.) More Shapeshifters out in the world can only mean more familiar faces for the two of them, right?

\-------

Fiddleford's bedded down for the night, curled up to rest on his side, as that's the only way the sizeable gutful of eggs he's carrying will let him get comfortable.

He feels a gentle brush across one nipple (gasping without thinking), then the other, circling round and around the tender flesh, and hears the Shapeshifter purr from behind him, "So sensitive, aren't they? Getting so heavy and full..."

Fidds sighs happily, pushing back into the Shifter's arms. "Thanks t'you."

The lazy flicking continues. "Just imagine a few days from now, when you'll have a whole new litter's worth of eager mouths nursing away from both of these." A slow pinch to a nipple draws a moan. "But maybe... you'd like some fun for just the two of us tonight?"

Fiddleford hesitates as he feels the thick, rounded point of his lover's depositor bumping between his buttocks. "Are you sure we should? The young'uns could catch us," is his only protest, glancing towards the open bedroom doorway.

"Then they'll see how much fun it was to make them," the Shifter replies.

"Hnn." Fiddleford smiles. He shifts onto hands and knees, spreading himself wide, then smooths a hand over the swollen curve of his belly, remarking, "You keep gettin' me so good 'n knocked up, y'think I'd be able to keep my legs closed once in a while."

"Where'd be the pleasure in that?" asks the Shapeshifter, rolling the tip of a claw agonizingly close and away from Fiddleford's tenderest parts, and back again, to meet his pink, drooling hole. The finger slips thickly inside with a moan from the both of them. "Ahh... So wet and runny. Like someone can barely wait to get started," the Shifter teases.

Fiddleford has no witty reply, just a wavering "*Yeaaah*..." aching with need as he presses himself back against the slim firmness parting him.

The Shapeshifter growls against his shoulder. "I may be empty, but you keep making me want to stuff you full of *so* many eggs," it groans, pushing inside and away with its claw in a steady rhythm. "Do you want all of me?"

Fiddleford nods at the question. "*All* of you," he pants back. The Shapeshifter slides its slick digit out, moving its legs into proper position...

"Hhhh... Hnnn. Naaah. AAAHH." Fidds cries, feeling the slimy bulges of the depositor rock slowly inside him, burying itself further and further... until his pucker's strained wide and throbbing around the Shifter's root.

The two of them meet in mid-push against each other's bodies, leaving them pounding skin against carapace in an uneven, glistening counterbalance. Fiddleford's left panting for air, gulping and just barely managing "Harder..!" against the creature's thrusts as it crouches over his bent body, rutting away.

"Yessss..." the Shapeshifter hisses, curling its tongue along the shell of Fiddleford's ear as it slides in and out from glazed flesh with a thick *shluck-shluck-schluck* sound. Its claws move to curl around the erection bobbing mightily underneath Fiddleford's swaying belly. "Going to come already, are you? I can feel your hole spasming around me..."

"I-- I'm... ohhh~-- *yeahhhh!*" Fidds stammers back.

He bucks back against the Shapeshifter's cave-pale body, slippery from the sweat between them, and cries from deep in his throat as mindless throes of pleasure shudder through him. "So good SO GOOD OHGOD IT'S SO *GOOD..."*

He slumps, boneless and twitching, against the wet spots he's just spilled against the blankets, only to be prodded along by the Shapeshifter's mad rutting as it, too, reaches its own chemical finish line, making an altogether inhuman bellowing sound as it does so.

They cling to each other in a haze of sweat and heady endorphins, panting into the mattress that cradles them for some time until they catch their breath, one soon after the other.

Then, they cuddle.

Not surprisingly, being half the Shapeshifter's size, Fiddleford ends up being the little spoon again. He feels the Shifter's claws run over his warm, bloated baby bump, up and down, up and back down, oh so gently.

"If you can hear me," the Shifter tells Fiddleford's middle, "You're going to have *such* a wonderful human father."

"And such a wonderful *alien* father, too," Fiddleford adds, rubbing his own hands over the Shapeshifter's.

"Flatterer," the creature wrapped around him says.

"I know you are, but what am I," Fidds jeers back playfully.

Soon, the only sound in the room is the pull and fall of their breaths, in tandem.


	2. More Shapefiddler

"Oh god..." the little engineer cried, feeling the familiar, comforting slime cold upon his back. His hips bucked and rolled upon the mattress, spreading ever wider as the alien tendrils kept pushing to fill him.

"Don't stop!" he ordered the beast straddling his backside. "Don't you stop, no matter how big I get!"

And indeed, he knew the drill when he was in this position. His left hand leapt from the cushions beneath him to his stomach, feeling the skin press tighter and tighter beneath his fingers. Swelling his belly rounder with more, and more, and ever unthinkably more, of his partner's offspring. He howled as they kept slurping in from between his waiting buttocks, even as his navel popped outwards from the strain of all those eggs inside him. It was a happy cry, proud to hold as many as he could.

His voice became a growl of determination, as his middle kept expanding. "I-- I can't..." he murmured-- and lurched forward, twisting himself this way and that from atop the Shapeshifter's long, slimy depositor.

The two separated with a quiet pop and a gushing gout of green fluid between Fidds' slender ass cheeks. "So good..." was all Fiddleford could say as the Shifter laid him down onto their bed. Weak and shivering, but with a smile that could win awards. "SO good thank you..."

The Shapeshifter cuddled the small body beside it, massaging a once-tiny frame bloated heavy and stretchmarked with their young. "And you still thank me," it chuckled.

Fiddleford reeled, almost delirious, as he felt how humongous he had become. "I just can't wait to meet them all," he said, smiling beatifically at the creature snuggling him. "I know it'll only be a few days, but..."

"Shh," the Shifter soothed him, running a claw through his sweat-matted hair. "Enjoy this part, too. There must be some physical benefit for you, or why would you do this?"

This gave Fiddleford a moment's thought. "It's *so* warm..." he murmured, stroking up and down his brand-new stomach bulge before hugging the skin tight, tracing the masses of eggs and goo underneath. "I can tell how full it is, in there."

"How full of life," hummed the Shapeshifter, folding a cave-pale claw over the human's. "All thanks to you."

Fiddleford gave a slight, happy hum at this. "It feels better than anything. To be so big, and heavy, and..." He trailed off.

"Yes?" The Shifter beckoned.

Fidds cradled a hand over his belly. "And so, so *pregnant,*" he sighed.

The Shapeshifter found this amusing. "Yes. I suppose it does," it told Fiddleford, before enfolding him in a squishy embrace.


	3. Difficulty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anonymous Shapefiddler fan on Tumblr requested "difficult birth." Who am I to turn down a challenge like that? :3

The Shapeshifter curled its claws protectively around the human that had decided to become its partner. Fiddleford was still panting from the effort of another mating session, sweat thick upon his brow, matting his brown shock of hair to his forehead.

"Love you so much," said Fidds, pressing an arched back against the creature spooning him, his grandly bloated eggbelly pressing out decadently into the Shifter's embrace from the mattress they both rested upon.

The Shapeshifter folded its toothy maw to show only the bumpy gums beneath, and planted a kiss against Fiddleford's newest baby bump. "To the next litter," it said proudly.

"To the next litter," Fiddleford repeated, his smile beaming.

\------

The first shift took place, almost predictably, in the middle of the night. But this was much sooner than the rest. And unlike the other times, there was fear in Fiddleford's voice as he shook the Shapeshifter awake.

"Hey. Darlin'. Somethin's wrong," he said urgently, rustling the Shapeshifter's puffy right shoulder back and forth, his eyes bulging behind his glasses.

"What do you mean?" asked the Shapeshifter. "Are they--"

Fiddleford only howled, grasping his belly tight and cringing inward. "It's-- it's the eggs, they're-- they're...!"

"What's the matter?" the Shapeshifter demanded, pulling bedsheets off from the both of them. It stared at Fiddleford's thighs, at the green froth built up uselessly between Fiddleford's legs, and there-- the bulge of a pale blue shell, tremoring in its first birth throes.

"They're comin' early!" panted Fiddleford. "O-only they're... they're not comin'...!" He scrabbled at the bulge at his groin in obvious panic, gripping his hips and whimpering, his eyes wide with pained fear. "It's-- ohh, mercy, this one's too big for me!"

"No such thing," said the Shapeshifter, hunkering down to meet its offspring eye to shell. Its pink eyes bulged at the size of the egg, but without saying anything to Fiddleford, its claws reached delicately to either side of it, gripping gently and pulling. And tugging. And...

"I don't believe it," the Shifter mumbled.

"What's the matter?" asked Fiddleford from on his back, half panicked.

"Nothing. Nothing's the matter," the Shapeshifter said. "We've just got an egg that's... stubborn." It sized up the light blue protuberance from every angle it could, finally bending to lap along the edge with its sizable tongue.

"Oh lordy, it finally happened. One of 'em's gonna bust me," Fiddleford uttered in a quiet, low-voiced panic, leaving blotches of sweat upon the bedsheets.

"Nonsense," declared the Shifter. It picked up its efforts with double the enthusiasm, licking and suckling along the reddened skin bulged tight at Fiddleford's hole. Fidds began moaning at the feel of it, rocking against the Shapeshifter's tender tongue.

"Is it...?" the Shifter asked, feeling the eggshell bulge wide against its gums.

Fiddleford bucked desperately against the wet smoothness, crying out, "Ahh-- ahh, god, it's-- it's a-comin'-- it's-- AAAH--!!"

With a distinct "blort" sound, the egg plopped out from between Fiddleford's cheeks onto sheets already runny with laying goo, to a gravelly growl of exhilaration from the human.

"You did it! You did it!" cheered the Shapeshifter, scooping Fiddleford into its arms and hugging tight.

"Oh god," was all Fiddleford could muster, before a messy torrent of smaller eggs spewed out to follow the troublemaker.

The Shapeshifter brushed the goo off its face, its smile never faltering. "Happy birthday!" it greeted the newcomers.

"There's more," Fiddleford panted, grunting as more small dud eggs gushed forth onto their bed. Followed by one much larger than the rest, crowning wet between Fidds' cheeks.

"Ohhhh," Fiddleford all but crooned as it squeezed its way out with a 'platt' onto the bed. "It's a winner, in'nit? Another one?"

"A winner," repeated the Shifter proudly. "That's two! Two little ones!"

"Ah...!" Fidds cried out wordlessly. A third light blue bulge appeared at his hole, swelling wide...

"Three!" the Shapeshifter said, joy shining in its pink eyes. "You can do it!" It bent its tangle of legs to rub Fiddleford's back, urging him on to press the orb out further, further--

A crackling alerted the Shapeshifter to the first new grub forcing its way out from its eggshell, bigger by far than any siblings before it. One pink eye and one blue blinked at their parents.

"Hello," the Shapeshifter grinned to its newest hatchling. "Welcome to the world!" It turned to Fiddleford. "Do you feel like nursing already?"

Legs spread, sweating buckets, another egg caught halfway within his body, Fiddleford still smiled to see his newest child. "Bring them to me," he said, and lifted his stretched maternity dress to cuddle the squishy glob to his chest, letting this new life suckle his rich, creamy milk without another thought. Same with the second egg, as it cracked moments later to spill out another grub with pink eyes shining. Fiddleford bundled this one underneath the dress as well, sighing softly as its wiggling, hungry mouth hit home onto his other nipple and quietly began sucking away.

"I need to push," he said to the Shapeshifter, his latest egg still stuck halfway inside him. He bore down, bracing, and pushed-- groaning at the size of this one, pushing, *pushing*, yelping, GONE...

"Four!" the Shifter lauded, stroking through Fiddleford's sweaty hair with a claw. "Four healthy eggs!"

Fiddleford shook for his every breath, a slurry of nonviable small eggs slurping out from him. "Four..." he repeated, sounding dazed, two suckling babes already nestled upon his swollen chest. He rested his head back upon the pillows, mumbling, "That's all. No more this time."

The both of them heard the crackling as the final two grubs in the litter broke free from their eggs. The Shapeshifter cuddled them both to its slimy bare chest, reassuring them, "Soon, little ones. Soon you'll get your turn."

Fiddleford merely kept his head laid back upon the pillows, luxuriating in the feeling of tiny, helpless mouths suckling their first meal from his chest. Every now and then, a small grunt or a burp would escape one of them, their little nubby legs wiggling across his tender breasts.

Fiddleford didn't know how he could possibly be happier than at times like these. "There, there," he'd soothe the burpers, knowing more newborns would soon take their place. "There, there. You're safe now."


	4. Picture Perfect

"Goodnight, Jeremy." Two kisses to the grub's slimy forehead, followed by Jeremy's chirp and a wiggle from six stubby legs under its crib blanket. "Goodnight, Craig." Another pair of smooches. Craig's shiny blue eyes squinted, rolling in embarrassment as it shuffled further under the covers. "Goodnight, Bertha." The biggest grub in the cradle lifted its front legs and kissed back with bumpy gums.

"If you get thirsty, there's water and orange juice on the bottom shelf of the kitchen fridge," the Shapeshifter told them. "And no absorbing it *all.* Leave some for your siblings."

"G'night!" Fiddleford called to the litter, as his alien partner and he both inched backwards to the nursery doorway.

"niiight..." A couple tiny voices parroted back.

The knob turned shut behind them.

"So," the Shapeshifter began calmly. "Are you going to tell me what's been bothering you tonight?"

"Oh, it's..." Fiddleford brushed a hand through his shaggy hair and looked away, smoothing it down the pregnant pink basketball of a belly that tented the ends of his button-down shirt to either side. He moved to unknot his tie, walking past the Shapeshifter towards their bedroom. "It's nothing. Really."

"Nothing, eh," nodded the Shifter, skittering along behind him on its spidery legs. "You can tell me all about it when we're in bed."

\------

"What do you mean, you feel *ugly?*" the Shifter repeated, its bare eyebrow ridge raising in disbelief.

"Well, I... I mean-- oh, fer cryin' out loud, just *look* at me!" Fiddleford cried. He sat cross-legged on the mattress, his hands flailing at the bloated mound of his stomach. "There's patches a' *hair* growin' on it this time! And all these... consarned stretch marks..." He streaked his fingers gently over the lightning storm of purpled lines crisscrossing his stomach.

"But that's *you*," the Shifter replied.

"What about how everything's gettin' all loose 'n puffy downstairs?" Fiddleford unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off the rest of the way, looking down at breasts that had swelled to almost painful ripeness. "I gotta change my drawers at *least* three or four times a day to keep 'em from gettin' soaked through with that green goo stuff I've been leakin' out. How can you look at a mess like this and still find me attractive?!"

"Oh, my human," the Shapeshifter began simply, clambering onto the bed to rub a pale, noodly arm up and down Fiddleford's back in sympathy. "It's easy. Let me show you."

Fiddleford gasped, as a perfect copy of himself was suddenly hugging him upon the bedsheets, right down to the dark splotches on his boxers. The Shifter-Fiddleford reached out to take hold of one of the engineer's hands, drawing it atop the heavy curve of its middle. Fiddleford couldn't help but stare at the uneven mat of brown peach-fuzz curls it was guiding his fingers to stroke through. "Human bodies are always strange to me. Do you think a little more hair or some stripes would frighten me away?"

"I... I *guess* not, but..." Fiddleford gulped audibly, unable to look away from the stretched beach-ballish frame of what was technically his own stomach. "Do I really look... like..."

"Like what?" asked his partner.

The human pursed his lips. He smoothed a hand down the copy of his own achingly pregnant belly, over the popped pink knot of his navel, back up, and over the taut skin again, as though seeing it with new eyes. "I'd always heard a gal... *glowed*, when she was like this. Never really saw it when my own wife was expecting, but." His hand drew back, eyes darting to his dopple's benevolent smiling face in disbelief. "I can see it. In you."

"And what makes you think I'd see you any differently?" the Shifter told him, angling its nose out of the way to plant a kiss on Fiddleford's forehead. Another kiss, upon his cheek. Then lower still. Right between the mounds bulging from his chest. Pausing to lap a nipple into its mouth and suck it tenderly.

"Ah--!" Fiddleford uttered, squirming. "You oughtta know how sensitive these things're gettin'!"

"Of courth," his dopple replied through a mouthful of tit, letting it fall to dangle next to its twin. The two's bellies bumped softly against each other as the Shifter turned away. "Sorry."

"Oh, heck, I don't mind. Just gimme some warning, is all. C'mere," Fiddleford beckoned, resting his shoulders back against the fluffy pillows on their bed. His eyes all but bulged, looking his copy up and down.

"What's the matter?" the Shifter asked.

"No, it's..." Fiddleford shook his head. "I wanna... just. Touch you all over, right now. Is that weird?"

"No weirder than falling for a human," the Shapeshifter-Fiddleford replied, huddling next to its partner's reclining form.

"Can't argue with that," said Fiddleford with a shrug, and reached to stroke along the breasts hanging at his dopple's chest, slowly, reverently. He risked a squeeze of one of the swollen teats, to a hiss from the Shapeshifter. He smirked. "Told you they get sensitive."

Down his hands went against the copy of his own straining belly. "They look *cute* when they're on you," he said, tracing the countless stretch marks dappling its middle.

The Shifter was obviously enjoying the attention, but paused to breathe, "What makes you think yours are any less cute to me?"

"Hmm." Fiddleford's mouth quirked in a small smile, turning that tidbit over in his mind. His voice broke as he pressed on further. "Oh, gosh... I'm a lot... *girthier* than I thought I am," he remarked, reaching underneath a stomach that all but hid a fat, drooping penis atop a bulging ballsack.

He slipped a hand between his own twin's legs, massaging the hardening prick rising from a brown thatch of pubic hair. Grinned at the pleasured, warbly sound his partner made as he shuffed along the veins of the skin tightening in his fist.

"You ever made love with a great big litter of young'uns buckin' away in yer belly before?" Fiddleford asked, lust deepening his voice.

"I haven't," the Shapeshifter answered through its panting, arching into his touch.

Fiddleford smirked devilishly. "You wanna?"

An inhuman groan came from his copy's throat. "Yes. I'd like that very much."

"Hnn. Then buckle up, buttercup," Fiddleford hummed, guiding his partner onto hands and knees, with its giant eggbelly wagging stiffly below it. He licked and suckled a trail along the Shapeshifter's shoulder, easing down his copy's boxers to hug the tops of slim thighs, and smiled at the happy trills this prompted.

His own erection bobbed beneath his belly, pounding oh, so warm against tented boxers until he slipped those off too, no longer bothered by the imperfections smattered across both their bodies. Fiddleford took hold of his hard-on, smearing the tip of it this way and that through the slime dribbling thick from the Shifter's soft, puffy pucker.

He parted its buttocks with a cockhead slippery with goo, murmuring through the Shapeshifter's croons as his slow, rocking pushes in and out began, "You're 'bout to find out why I love gettin' fucked by you so much..."


End file.
